Rending the Bloodred Chains That Bind Us Together
by fleeting . white . feathers
Summary: A Story of Evil fanfiction: "I know who killed my father, Allen." He froze.
1. The Servant of Evil

**Rending the Bloodred Chains that Bind Us Together**

Allen ran.

His feet pounded on the dirt road. His breath came in heaving gasps, his usually neat attire wild with disarray. He'd abandoned his telltale palace uniform, clad only in a white collared shirt, trousers, and boots. Strands of his blonde hair were falling into his eyes, but he did not even have the energy to spare to brush them away.

He ran, because he'd just received news, worse news than that of the coming uprising, of the revolution growling in the shadows, news that made him leave a distraught Rillianne and run to the only place he could confirm it.

He reached the small gate whose rusty hinges had needed repair for years and simply vaulted over the top. He practically slammed himself against the familiar wooden door, bursting through it and into the house.

"Germaine! Germaine, I need to talk to y-" he balked at the entrance. Brown eyes, cold and dark, stared up into his. Strong, calloused hands tugged at leather binds, buckling them closed. The setting sun lit up vermillion metal.

Allen couldn't take his eyes off of her. Off the armor that glittered on her arms, shoulders, torso and legs. Off the fierce determination in her face.

"Allen." Germaine said coolly, buckling the last strap closed.

"That's…" he licked his suddenly dry lips. "That's the armor Commander Leonhart gave you…" There was no doubt. He'd spent hours scrubbing and polishing the entire set to perfection the day before her 21st birthday. There was no way he could mistake it.

She stiffened as her father's name passed his lips. The temperature in the room almost seemed to drop.

"What do you want?" she asked abruptly, facing him. "Shouldn't you be at the palace, attending to your precious princess?" The last word was said with a sneer.

Allen tried to gather his shattered thoughts. "I heard… they said… someone told me…" he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "They said you were leading the revolution," he blurted out.

He'd imagined her face. The way her eyes would widen, and then burst out laughing. Her heavy arm would sling itself around his shoulders, making him hunch painfully as she mussed up his hair. _Who, me? Lead a revolution? Pshaw! I'd be too drunk to do anything but sleep!_

Reality slapped him in the face. Germaine merely stared at him, an eyebrow raised. "And?"

Something snapped inside him. "'And'? Germaine, you can't do this!" he cried out.

Her eyebrows met. "Don't tell me what I can or cannot do," she snapped. "Things have gone far enough. Are you so blind with admiration that you cannot see this is necessary?"

"It doesn't have to be this way! People will die-"

"They will die anyway!" She was on her feet, eyes blazing with fury. "Whether it's from starvation or that thrice-blasted guillotine, they will die as long as that spoiled, senseless _brat_ stays on the throne!"

"_Don't call her a brat!_"

They stared at each other, breathing hard.

"I'll fight you." Allen stated, his heart clenching in his chest.

Germaine wouldn't hurt him. She never did, not intentionally, and every accident would send her into a panic. She'd patch him up, apologize profusely, and buy him a treat. Sparring was always an agony for her, because Allen made her swear not to go easy on him and it always ended with him hurt one way or another.

Now she didn't even flinch at his words.

"So be it." She said coldly, looking down at him. "Now if that's all you have to say, I have other things to do." She pushed past him, making him tumble painfully to the ground, and walked out.

Allen stared at her retreating back in shock. How much had she changed? How could he not have seen it? It felt like only yesterday when he would walk inside the house to visit and find her groaning on the couch from the king of hangovers. He would laugh at her, and she would moan and swear and complain that he was too loud. Then he'd cook her some dinner and cure her migraine only for her to get drunk again later that evening.

He couldn't let her do this. He_ couldn't._

"Father wouldn't have wanted this!"

She stopped.

It was too late. The words were out and could not be taken back. And yet still Allen hoped that it would work, that she would stop and turn around and apologize, and wrap him in her trademark bone-crushing hug.

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. A single leaf drifted from the trees and slowly fell, rocking in the quiet breeze until it landed gently on the ground.

She spoke.

"I know who killed my father, Allen."

He froze.

"It's funny how I found out, really." Was she speaking? It was hard to tell. His blood roared loudly in his ears. "It didn't matter to me who did the actual killing as long as I knew who the mastermind was. That is until a little bird told me."

He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He could still smell the blood, feel the sickening ease of the knife cutting into flesh, hear the death rattle as Leonhart Abbadonia drew his last breath.

_Allen…_

"I have no idea what possessed you. And as much as I try to, I can't find it in myself to hate you." Her voice was trembling.

Allen watched numbly. _Do something! _He screamed at himself. _Say something!_

Then her voice hardened. "But know this, Allen. You are no longer my brother. That ended the day you betrayed Father. If we meet on the battlefield I will not hesitate to kill you."

He bowed his head in shame. "I understand." He whispered softly.

There was a pause. Neither of them moved.

"I love you, little brother..." Germaine said, her voice thick. Her feet began to move once more, stirring up the brown dust of the road. "Goodbye." She didn't look back.

Tears gathered in his eyes. _Don't say that,_ he wanted to say. _I don't deserve that!_

One drop fell. And another. And another.

"I love you too, Big Sis." Allen whispered. "And I'm sorry."

She stumbled. He hadn't called her that in years. She recovered quickly, and did not stop.

"Make sure you lock the door. I won't be back in a while, okay? And get someone to fix that damn gate!" Then she gave a jaunty wave over her shoulder and ran off. Like it was a normal day. Like she wasn't going to risk her life, and was only leaving to spend a happy night drinking at the bar.

Those words hurt him worse than any insult or any curse could have done.

Despair overwhelmed him. It slammed into him and through him, dragging everything out and leaving him cold and empty.

He knew she was right. He knew that the princess needed to be replaced; the people, saved.

But he also knew that he would not let them get their way.

_If this is what they call retribution, then I shall see to it and disobey it._

He no longer had anything to lose.

"Goodbye… Germaine."


	2. The Daughter of Vengeance

Epilogue

"Look, how many times do I have to say I'm not going to the execution? I don't care if I'm the damn leader of the damn rebellion, I'm staying here. Now would you please, kindly, _leave me alone_?"

Germaine slammed the door to her room in the inn and sighed, leaning her aching head against it. She hadn't had any sleep for two days straight now and her body was complaining.

She collapsed on the bed, vaguely hoping that burying her face in cloth would stop her migraine.

It didn't.

A little 'thump' reached her ears. Looking up, Germaine saw the only thing she had brought from home land on the bed next to her. Slowly, she reached out her hand and lifted it to her face.

A tall man smiled at the camera, both of his large hands on the heads of the two kids in front of him. A girl of about ten years old grinned widely, her arms around the small, disgruntled-looking boy in front of her, her chin resting on his shoulder.

_Allen._

Her thoughts drifted to him. It tended to do that now, whenever she wasn't preoccupied. Before, she would shove the thoughts away and find something to do. Now she was too tired to even resist.

She didn't hate him. She couldn't. She tried to, of course. He had killed her father after all, betrayed him, the man who had saved his life, raised him, and even helped him ease his way into the palace. But whenever she tried to feel that cold, dark hate she felt for Rillianne and shift it to him, it disappeared.

All she could feel was hollow, painful disappointment.

_Where is he?_ Germaine wondered. _What is he doing?_She had expected him to be in the castle, ready to fight and defend his beloved princess. But he wasn't there.

"Damn." She cursed and sat up. Now was not the time to think about this! She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten minutes to three. Her mind drifted to the princess. By now they should be opening the door to her cell, dragging her to the cart to be brought to the plaza.

She remembered running through the castle, meeting no resistance. She had been the one who had burst open the throne room's doors, who had walked up to the child and aimed her sword at her throat.

She remembered looking into the cold, blue eyes of her enemy. The girl hadn't even been tall enough to reach her chin, and yet she had met Germaine's gaze fearlessly.

Her eyes wandered to the frame in her hand.

She'd seen those eyes before.

"Miss Germaine?" A maid knocked nervously on the door. "Miss Germaine, the master is asking if you would like tea brought to your room… Miss Germaine?"

She pressed her hand to the door, which swung open at her touch. Her eyes widened. She screamed.

The window was open.

"_Big Sis, give it baaack! You're so mean!"_

"_Germaine! Don't tell me you drank yourself to sleep again!"_

"_Look, look! I did it, Germaine, I did it! I'm going to the palace!"_

Memories washed over her in waves. They slammed against her, assaulting her senses, stabbing her heart again and again. Terror chased at her heels, snapping and biting, not letting her slow in her hopeless race against time.

She leapt over a fence, taking a shortcut between a row of houses. The streets were empty. Everyone was at the square, waiting to see the evil tyrant's head roll as so many others did before it.

_I should have known sooner. It was too easy, too suspicious! I should have realized it, I could have stopped him, I could have…_

It was hard to tell where the sobbing started and the panting ended. Her foot snagged on a crack in the pavement. She went down sprawling.

Of all the times for her clumsiness to act up! Doggedly she rose to her feet, rubbed her eyes free of dust and tears, and ran faster.

"_There are two things you need to remember about being a knight."_A voice resounded in her head. _"One: A sword is a double edged blade. As you cut people down and end their lives, it cuts off a bit of your soul as well, slowly turning you into an empty killing machine. This is why you must never use it until there is no other choice. And two…_

_You cannot save everyone."_

There! The square! She slammed into a wall of people, knocking down three and earning a dozen swear words from the others. She ignored them and squeezed through.

"Watch it!"

"Hey!"

"_Move it!"_she yelled.

**_DING_**

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_DONG_**

Her head snapped up. She saw the platform, the judge reading the charges, the executioner by the guillotine.

She saw him.

And, as his cold blue eyes landed on her, she knew he saw her too.

**_DING_**

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_DONG_**

"_ALLEN!_" she screamed. Something in his eyes flickered. Hope made a sudden leap to her throat.

Then he turned his head and looked away, his face a scornful mask, looking at something in the crowd only he seemed to see.

**_DING_**

_._

_._

_._

The judge nodded at the executioner.

"NO! STOP!"

She drew her sword. The crowd parted faster.

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_DONG_**

"_Oh my. It's snack time."_

**_SHHCK!_**

Her scream of agony was drowned out in the triumph of the crowd.


End file.
